Never Enough
by Supred
Summary: Phoebe Whitlock was an adopted black heiress who joined the circus because no one else would have her. Phillip Carlyle was a drunken playwright bored with the uptown life. No matter how much they try to rewrite the stars, it may never be enough.
1. Chapter 1

Phoebe Whitlock knew that moving to America after spending her whole 19 years of life in London would be a huge change to what she was used to. She knew that it would be an adjustment, everyone told her, her adoptive parents, George and Amelia, created a slideshow of reasons why she shouldn't.

In the end it all came down to her skin colour, the privilege she was granted in England would not be acknowledged in New York. Her parents wealth and status meant she at least had access to the aristocracy. Phoebe was shunned and ignored, but she had money and she had an education.

Phoebe never really understood how privileged she was until she came to America. Her name meant nothing there, when she entered places like the theatre, at home she would be able to buy her way in. Here, she was thrown out, the people believed she stole the money, or her garments. She was thrown in jail overnight a couple times because of this.

Phoebe quickly learned how to keep her head down, how to use the allowance her parents gave her to buy cheaper clothing, and how to ignore the disdain the rest of the world sent her.

A month into staying at her parents' residence in New York, she found an advertisement on a noticeboard. It read that a pair of black siblings, a man and woman were looking for a flatmate. She immediately rushed to the residence listed to find them.

That's how she met the Wheelers.

A year later, Phoebe was 20 and working night shifts at a bar. It wasn't fun but it got them money. W.D. was determined to find them jobs performing, Anne was hopeful to find something but it had been 9 month since anyone would hire them, Phoebe gave up on hoping and was taking any jobs she could, no matter how degrading they ended up being.

At first, when W. D. had brought the advertisement home, calling out to the 'curiosities' of New York, Phoebe laughed incredulously.

_They were black_, she had thought, furiously. _Not curiosities._ She had a right mind to tear the offensive leaflet up, when W. D. took hold of her shoulders and forced her to face him. "Phoebe, we're acrobats with black skin - we ain't gonna get a chance like this again," he had told her, in a somewhat exasperated voice. "Never in a million years."

Phoebe frowned at W.D. as he looked sat Anne for support. Sometimes, he would allow himself to be carried away with an idea or hope, and nothing she nor Anne would say could deflate him. Often the girls found themselves trying to be the voice of reason. Anne sighed and shook her head, like Phoebe and W.D. all she wanted to do was perform but they'd had too many bad experiences with circus owners and sideshows. It wasn't worth the risk.

"Girls, it could be weeks, months even, until we find another job performing. You don't know, this could be a good one. And we'll starve before then if we don't. Unless you want to try your hand at cleaning and cooking for the white folks again?" He directed this comment towards Anne.

Anne pursed her lips, and W. D. gave her a told-you-so grimace. Anne nodded her approval, she couldn't really resist her older brother. It all came down to Phoebe. Anne cradled Phoebe's hands within her own. "Come on, Phoebs, this Mr Barnum might be alright."

Feeling her defences collapse Phoebe sighed. She nodded, as the Wheelers enveloped her in tight hug. W.D. wrapped his arms around the girls and lifted them up. Phoebe and Anne giggled as they were crushed together and spun.

She was still somewhat dubious when they arrived outside Barnum's American Museum. Phoebe wore her most professional outfit, if it came down to it she'd bribe Mr Barnum to accept them. If she was going to do that she wanted to look the part. Her hair was twisted into an elegant low bun, she pinned at hat that matched her navy skirt suit on.

The passersby were barely looking in the direction of the museum, despite all of it's grandeur and splendour, some were even going out of their way to avoid it. Then she saw the large queue spilling out the doors.

It took Phoebe's breath away. The people that had answered P. T. Barnum's call were some of the most magnificent and astonishing human beings Phoebe had ever seen. A man whose body was covered entirely in ink. A man who towered over them all. A woman with golden eyes and ebony skin. A pair of twins joined, quite literally, at the hip. A couple whose skin was like ivory, with silver hair to match. As Phoebe, Anne and W.D. joined the line, she was able to stand proudly, her back straight and chin high, no longer feeling like she had to hide under bonnets and gloves.

As they neared the front, Phoebe caught a glimpse of the infamous P. T. Barnum. He was a very handsome man, in the conventional way, with broad shoulders, tidy hair and a charming grin. He didn't appear in the slightest to be horrified by the hopefuls who had queued up to proposition themselves for his show. In fact, he was delighted.

Phoebe wasn't sure what to make of P. T. Barnum. According to the Wheelers, most of the circuses they had previously performed in were less than happy to shine a spotlight on so-called 'oddities'. More often than not, the Wheeler siblings found themselves without a job when their ringleader had hired somebody else, who they deemed 'fit the audience's expectations' - in other words, white. It was very rare to come across a ringleader willing to put, not just one but three, black acrobats on centre stage. Yet here was P. T. Barnum, crying out for anyone and everyone different.

Phoebe's experiences with circuses was very limited, when Pablo Fanque's circus came to london, she was immediately enchanted by the acrobats who seemed to fly above everything. As a child she attended every night she could, if one of her parents didn't take her, a maid or manservant took responsibility. Pablo noticed she came so often and offered to take her under his wing. Phoebe's parents , being as tremendously odd as they were allowed it as long as she still took part in her normal studies. So then from the age of 10, Phoebe was trained in many circus skills, mainly acrobatics.

Looking around the other candidates, Phoebe noticed that some appeared not to have any particular talent, other than being different, of course. In the queue stood a sword-wielder and fire-eaters, and then there was a man with a belly the size of a barrel. It was astounding how many people had these secret talents or oddness, she hadn't ever seen them in New York. It was a comfortable atmosphere to be in though, it reminded her off her childhood home, the sitting room decorated with sunflowers and peacock feathers, the ballroom that was painted like the sky of a beautiful summer day and the yellow room, the room facing the garden that was entirely yellow, the walls, the furniture, even the paintings.

"Remember the rules?" Anne asked her, as the tattooed man shook P. T. Barnum's hand, grinning, leaving a mere scattering of people remaining between them and their future.

"Don't look them in the eyes, speak only when spoken to, and always call them sir or ma'am," Phoebe recited in a monotonous tone. "I know. _I know_. We can't give him a reason to turn us away."

W. D. gave his friend a sad smile. He rubbed a hand on her back, in reassuring, circular motions. "It's not fair, I know. But we have to keep out heads down, keep out of trouble." he told her, tucking a strand of Phoebe's curly hair behind her ear. It was a gesture that reminded her of their father, which brought both warm and melancholy feelings. She no longer had enough money to go home, she missed her parents dearly, but she loved W.D. and Anne as much as she loved them. They'd taught her so much in their time together.

After what felt a lifetime of waiting, Phoebe, Anne and W. D. suddenly found themselves sat in front of P. T. Barnum, under his scrutiny. He looked them both up and down, and Phoebe could almost see his brain whirring away, trying to suss out their act. She did as she was told, and kept her hands in her lap and eyes down. She allowed W. D. to do the talking, Phoebe was proud and outspoken, and Anne would usually find words failing her.

"Phoebe Whitlock and Anne and W. D. Wheeler?" Barnum repeated, as though testing the names out on his tongue. He looked at the girls, trying to discern who wasn't related to the other two. He pointed at Anne, "Phoebe?"

Anne shook her head, Phoebe took charge. "No sir, I'm Phoebe Whitlock."

P.T. rose an eyebrow. "A brit?"

Phoebe sat straight. "Yes, I'm british."

He looked at the siblings next to her."Brother and sister?"

"Yes, sir."

"Terrific. And, what do you three do?" Barnum questioned, hand on his chin, curious.

Anne spoke up. "Uh, trapeze. Phoebe does aerial silks as well.

"Trapeze? Aerial silks? What are those?"

"Trapeze is fairly new, sir. Invented in France," W. D. explained, leading once more. "It's like a performance, in the air. Swinging back and forth on ropes and bars and such. The aerial silks are two lengths of fabric hung from the ceiling. Phoebe performs acrobatics in the air while hanging from this fabric."

"Uh huh. Are these acts dangerous?" Barnum was clearly intrigued, leaning forward on his desk.

"Very, sir. We're twenty feet off the ground. We take it in turns to catch each other when the other lets go. On the silks, Phoebe is just as high and is only supported by how she manipulates the fabric around her body and how strong she is, in either of these acts, one wrong move and you can drop easily from this height."

"Extraordinary!" he cried, elated. "I'd hire you both here and now, but there's a few things I want to go over."

They had been anticipating this query, Anne reached into her skirt pockets and pulled out two folded pieces of paper, worn and stained with age. She held them out to Barnum, who eyed the documents inquisitively. "They're our freedom papers, sir, Phoebe doesn't have any as a British citizen, in case you're worried we ain't - "

P. T. Barnum appeared almost embarrassed, as he shook his head. "No, no, I don't need to see those. Slavery has been illegal for thirty-four years now, here in New York, so you may put those papers away Miss Wheeler." Taken aback by his politeness and deftness in dealing with the situation, Anne smiled as she tucked the documents away. "I only meant I'd like to see a demonstration, of sorts, if that's alright?"

"Of course, Mr Barnum sir," W. D. replied, eagerly. "We'd be happy to show you what we can do - is there somewhere you'd like us to go?"

Barnum looked around, and then gestured to a bench over by a waxwork figure of Napoleon Bonaparte. "If you wouldn't mind just waiting over there whilst I see to the rest of the candidates, and then you can give me a taste of what trapeze and aerial silks are all about, ok?"

Phoebe and the Wheelers sat and waited patiently on the wooden bench, surrounded by waxwork figures of famous faces they'd seen printed in newspapers, and exotic animals their parents would tell them bedtime stories about. When Barnum approached them as he said he would, all the acts hired or dismissed, the trio shot up out of their seats, excitedly. He grinned at their enthusiasm, and crossed his arms. Just as he asks them to begin, the doors flew open, and two giggling little girls came bounding in. A breathtakingly beautiful woman, with honey blonde hair and an even sweeter smile, wasn't far behind. Barnum greeted them warmly, lifting the little girls up in his arms and planting a flurry of kisses on their faces, to their squealing delight. Phoebe smiled fondly at the children.

"Girls, I'd like you to meet Phoebe Whitlock and Anne and W. D. Wheeler," Barnum introduced, as he set them down. The little girls didn't seem to care about the colour of their skin, and smiled widely. Phoebe reciprocated, smiling sweetly. "Phoebe is British, and the Wheelers are brother and sister, and they're all acrobats!"

"Acrobats?" the two girls cried out in unison. The smaller one turned to W. D. and held a hand for him to shake. He took the little hand, which looked like the pit of a peach in his own, and beamed. "What are acrobats?" she inquired, with a tilt of her head.

"Well, they're just about to show me. Would you like to watch?" Barnum asked, to which they nodded eagerly. The woman, who Phoebe presumed to be his wife, wrapped an arm around his waist, and laid a head on his shoulder. "You don't mind an audience, do you? I mean, I should hope not!"

The trio shook their heads, and turned to face each other. With a nod, they began. Utilising all the space they had, the pair performed a series of tricks that involved splits, flips, and a whole lot of strength and trust, finishing with W. D. in a bridge, Anne in a handstand on top of his legs, her legs in an 'L' shape. Phoebe had climbed onto top of Anne's foot, the one that was straight up in the air. She balanced herself on her arms and pushed herself up horizontally her legs in a split. The Barnum's were in awe, and the girls, including Mrs Barnum, erupted into a round of applause.

Phoebe climbed down carefully, Anne next and they helped W.D. up, all of them were out of breath. They turned their attention to P. T. Barnum, his arms were still crossed, but even he couldn't hide his expression of astonishment. Mouth agape and eyes wide, he held out a hand for them to shake. "That was unbelievable," he revealed, a grin as wide as train tracks on his face. "I cannot wait to see the audiences reactions when you perform things like that twenty feet up in the air."

"You know, people ain't gonna like it if you put us up on stage, sir," W. D. reminded Barnum, as he put his arms around the girls, in solidarity.

To their surprise, Barnum smirked with a glimmer in his eyes. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

They turned to leave smiling ecstatically, suddenly P.T. called them back. The smiles faded as they focused on him, scared of what he might say. "The name doesn't really roll of my tongue though, Phoebe Whitlock and the Wheelers? The Wheeler siblings and Phoebe? No, no, Phoebe how'd you feel about being a Wheeler?"


	2. Chapter 2

It took a couple of weeks, but the circus was soon set up, all the acts hired, a couple animals as well. The troupe had even started creating songs and choreographing dances for their performances.

P.T. himself fitted everyone for costumes and made them himself. Many of the women offered to help him with this, but he was determined to do it himself.

Phoebe grinned happily at herself in the mirror, finally she was able to do what she loved. What she was trained for. Unfortunately, her beautiful pink leotard that was decorated in faux flowers and ribbons had a laced back, much like a corset. She wasn't able to put it on herself and wasn't able to find Anne or anyone else who could help her. She exited the dressing room that she shared with Anne and W.D. when she heard P.T. singing the song they had rehearsed. This was to be their first performance together, everyone was nervous and wanted it to go perfectly.

(**P.T.**, _Phoebe_, Lord of Leeds, _**All**_)

**You stumble through your days**

**Got your head hung low**

**Your skies a shade of grey**

**Like a zombie in a maze**

**You're asleep inside**

**But you can shake awake**

**'Cause you're just a dead man walking**

**Thinking that's your only option**

**But you can flip the switch and brighten up your darkest day**

**Sun is up and the color's blinding**

**Take the world and redefine it**

**Leave behind your narrow mind**

**You'll never be the same**

**Come alive, come alive**

**Go and light your light**

**Let it burn so bright**

**Reaching up**

**To the sky**

**And it's open wide**

**You're electrified**

Barnum was looking handsome in his ringmaster costume. His red tails and black top hat were very flattering. He looked proud to wear them.

**When the world becomes a fantasy**

He stole someone's pillow from underneath their head to stuff it up The Lord of Leeds' shirt.

**And you're more than you could ever be**

**'Cause you're dreaming with your eyes wide open**

The Irish Giant was struggling to tie his stilts on, Barnum tied a belt around one of his legs. He stumbled a little and everyone tried to steady him.

**And you know you can't go back again**

**To the world that you were living in**

**'Cause you're dreaming with your eyes wide open**

Phoebe was still trying to do up her costume so he rushed over and pulled at the ribbon. Forcing all the air out of her in one move. He laughed at her expression as he tied the ribbon prettily into a bow.

**So, come alive!**

The Irish Giant was still stumbling, forcing everyone around him to try and keep him up, no one noticed that they'd stumbled into the entrance hall. The audience were shocked at the types of people they were seeing and the troup shied away, looking down.

Barnum noticed Phoebe and Lettie still hiding behind the curtains. Phoebe wanted to run the minute she saw the people looking so stunned. "Hey, they're waiting!"

He tried to usher them out. "For what?"

His eyes softened when he saw the fear in their eyes, "For you. They don't know it yet but they are going to love you. Trust me."

He pulled them out and there was a collective gasp, Phoebe couldn't discern whether it was at the black woman standing proudly in front of them or the bearded lady.

**I see it in your eyes**

**You believe that lie**

**That you need to hide your face**

**Afraid to step outside**

The troupe made eye contact with children who were entranced by what they saw. The children's eyes held no judgement, no fear, no hatred. It made everyone stand with confidence.

**So you lock the door**

**But don't you stay that way**

_No more living in those shadows_

_You and me, we know how that goes _Phoebe sang loudly and wonderfully.

'Cause once you see it, oh you'll never, never be the same

_**We will be the light that's turning**_

_**Bottle up but keep on shining**_

_**You can prove there's more to you**_

Charles fired blanks from his position of the running horse.

**You cannot be afraid**

They guided the audience to the ring, and broke into their choreographed dance.

_**Come alive, come alive**_

_**Go and light your light**_

_**Let it burn so bright**_

_**Reaching up**_

_**To the sky**_

_**And it's open wide**_

_**You're electrified**_

_**When the world becomes a fantasy**_

_**And you're more than you could ever be**_

_**'Cause you're dreaming with your eyes wide open**_

_**And we know we can't go back again**_

_**To the world that we were living in**_

_**'Cause we're dreaming with our eyes wide open**_

_**So, come alive!**_

_**Come one!**_

_**Come all!**_

_**Come in!**_

_**Come on!**_

_To anyone who's bursting with a dream _

_**Come one!**_

_**Come all!**_

_**You hear**_

_**The call**_

**To anyone who's searching for a way to break free**

_**Break free!**_

_**Break free!**_

_**When the world becomes a fantasy**_

_**And you're more than you could ever be**_

_**'Cause you're dreaming with your eyes wide open**_

_**And we know we can't go back again**_

_**To the world that we were living in**_

_**'Cause we're dreaming with our eyes wide open**_

_**When the world becomes a fantasy**_

_**And you're more than you could ever be**_

_**'Cause you're dreaming with your eyes wide open**_

_**And we know we can't go back again**_

_**To the world that we were living in**_

_**'Cause we're dreaming with our eyes wide open**_

_**'Cause we're dreaming with our eyes wide open**_

_**So come alive!**_


	3. Chapter 3

Phillip stood in the doorway, a fake smile plastered across his features, as he welcomed visitors to the theatre, it was the third night of his newest play. They were most complimentary, some raving about the reviews they had read in The New York Times, others very keen to tell him that this was their second viewing since they loved the first so much. Thanking them all kindly, Phillip stayed until the last of the audience had stepped inside, and then left. He simply walked out, reaching for his flask like some might reach for the hand of a lover in times of need.

Leaning against a pillar, nursing his whiskey, he heard a man approach him. Briefly looking up, he saw an impressive looking man, clad in a well-made suit and top hat. "Mr Carlyle?" he asked. "Did you produce this play?"

"Yes, I did," Phillip replied, screwing the cap of his flask shut.

The man chuckled as he extended an arm to the writer. "P. T. Barnum," he introduced himself.

Surprised, Phillip couldn't hide his expression from his face. "From the circus?"

"You've been?" Barnum responded, as Phillip took his hand.

"God no," Phillip snorted, before he could stop himself. All that whiskey was starting to loosen his tongue. Thinking of a way he could amend his rudeness, he rushed to say something flattering. "But I have seen the crowds. People leave your shows a great deal happier than when they went in. That's much more than I could say for my play."

"And yet you have no trouble selling tickets," Barnum pointed out, not visibly offended by Phillip's earlier slip.

"That's because I'm selling virtue," Phillip mustered, trying to explain his crowds in comparison to Barnum's circus. Not only was he part of the crowd, he knew what they liked, 'honour' and 'integrity', which is why he attracted the men and women with a desire to show off their finery and high standings.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Phillip showed Barnum to his favourite bar, not many upper class people attended but it still had a good atmosphere. Recognising Phillip as he walked through the door, the bartender poured out a large glass of whisky with a nod of his head. Sitting down at the countertop, Barnum looked around, impressed.

"I want to go after the aristocracy," Barnum explained as Phillip downed his drink in one. "Purchase some legitimate acts, expand our appeal, go after the stars. Join us! You clearly have a flair for show business."

Struggling to comprehend the proposition from this man he had known all of ten minutes, Phillip looked at his companion dubiously, searching his expression for even the slightest hint of mocking. Yet all he found was earnestness. "What's show business?"

"I just invented it," Barnum replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Teach me how to appeal to the high brows."

The bartender, ever reliable, placed a round of whiskey shots in front of the two men, to which they knocked back instantly. Experience and practice on his side, Phillip was the first to finish, as he turned to face the man once more. "Are you serious? Mr Barnum, I can't just run off and join the circus."

"Why not? Sounds thrilling, doesn't it?"

"Let's just say I find it much more comfortable admiring your show from afar."

"Comfort; the enemy of progress," Barnum smirked, as he tossed a peanut into the air and caught it without hesitation in his mouth.

"You understand that just associating myself with you could cost you my inheritance?" Phillip inquired, pushing the refilled glass in front of Barnum.

"Oh, it could cost you more than that," Barnum laughed. "You'd be risking everything, but on the other hand you might just find yourself a free man."

He slid the glass back in Phillip's direction, as the appeal of being independent and free from all societal restraints began to become clear. Phillip drank the glass empty, unable to resist the urge, his mind was starting to spin. Yet, Mr Barnum kept pushing drinks his way. Barnum broke out into song, Phillip assumed he couldn't hold his alcohol, actually Barnum had decided to show Phillip how fun and exciting it was to perform instead of just produce.

( **P.T. Barnum**, _Phillip Carlyle, __**Both**_)

**Right here, right now **

**I put the offer out**

**I don't want to chase you down**

**I know you see it**

**You run with me**

**And I can cut you free**

**Out of the treachery and walls you keep in**

**So trade that typical for something colorful**

**And if it's crazy, live a little crazy**

**You can play it sensible, a king of conventional**

**Or you can risk it all and see**

Barnum popped his top hat on and turned around. Pushing Phillip to face his direction.

**Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play**

**'Cause I got what you need**

**So come with me and take the ride**

**It'll take you to the other side**

Barnum jumped on top of a table and started to dance while he sung.

**'Cause you can do like you do**

**Or you can do like me**

**Stay in the cage, or you'll finally take the key**

**Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly**

**It'll take you to the other side**

He climbed down and poured Phillip another shot, for some reason he decided to join in on Barnum's song.

_Okay, my friend, you want to cut me in_

_Well I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen_

He pushed the shot back to the older man.

_So thanks, but no_

_I think I'm good to go_

He started to leave, pulling his scarf and top hat on.

_'Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in_

_Now I admire you, and that whole show you do_

_You're onto something, really it's something_

He had to admit he really admired the circus. But he had way too much pride to join the man.

_But I live among the swells, and we don't pick up peanut shells_

_I'll have to leave that up to you_

Suddenly, Phillip was hit with a burst of confidence and he threw his coat and scarf to the side.

_Don't you know that I'm okay with this uptown part I get to play_

_'Cause I got what I need and I don't want to take the ride_

_I don't need to see the other side_

He climbed on top of the bar and started to dance as well.

_So go and do like you do_

_I'm good to do like me_

_Ain't in a cage, so I don't need to take the key_

_Oh, damn! Can't you see I'm doing fine_

_I don't need to see the other side_

He gathered his things again.

**Now is this really how you like to spend your days?**

**Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays**

_If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town_

_Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns_

He drank again, not noticing Barnum leaving his full.

**But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little**

**Just let me give you the freedom to dream and it'll**

**Wake you up and cure your aching**

**Take your walls and start 'em breaking**

**Now that's a deal that seems worth taking**

**But I guess I'll leave that up to you**

Barnum was a good businessman, he could sell ice to an Eskimo. He knew exactly what Phillip wanted from life.

_Well it's intriguing, but to go would cost me greatly_

_So what percentage of the show would I be taking?_

**Fair enough, you'd want a piece of all the action**

**I'd give you seven, we could shake and make it happen**

_I wasn't born this morning, eighteen would be just fine_

**Why not just go ahead and ask for nickels on the dime**

_Fifteen_

**I'd do eight**

_Twelve_

**Maybe nine**

_Ten_

The bartender drummed his fingers on the bar. Expecting payment, Barnum patted himself down, looking for money. Phillip smirked and handed over much more money than what was owed.

Suddenly, he found himself shaking hands with Barnum, the pair grinning like Cheshire cats. It appeared he had agreed to become partner, on the condition that he received ten percent of the profits. Barnum was more than happy to agree to his terms, as he held the man steady and upright.

"Sir, looks like you've found yourself a junior partner."

Barnum chuckled and passed a shot over to Phillip, "What i have is an overcompensated apprentice."

The men finished their drinks and Barnum turned to Phillip gleefully. "Would like to see what you've invested in, Mr Carlyle?"

"Please, call me Phillip - we're partners now!"

_**Don't you wanna get away to a whole new part you're gonna play**_

_**'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride**_

_**To the other side**_

After rushing through the building drizzle, Phillip soon in the backstage of Barnum's circus, and it was the middle of a show. People were breathing fire, throwing things around, there were giants and little people. There were so many things to take in at once.

_**So if you do like I do**_

_**So if you do like me**_

_**Forget the cage, 'cause we know how to make the key**_

Phillip was so overwhelmed he tumbled over a crate.

_**Oh, damn! Suddenly we're free to fly**_

_**We're going to the other side**_

_**So if you do like I do**_

_**So if you do like me**_

_**'Cause if we do we're going to the other side**_

Lettie giggled at the two charming men tipping their hats to her.

_**We're going to the other **_

Barnum pushed Phillip through the curtains in front of him. Phillip could only breathe out his last words.

_Side_

The crowd's cheers hit him like a brick. They were deafening. They didn't cheer like that after his plays. He was awestruck by the spectacle unfolding on the stage, an eruption of colour and music and talent, all of which the likes he had never even dreamed of. A trio, two women and a man, were performing jaw-dropping stunts on aerial equipment in the sky.

That's when he saw her. Hanging upside down on a wire, a good twenty feet above the audience, he watched as she flew towards him, the whole world slowing down. Taking his hat off, as it was good manners, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the girl. She had long curly locks the colour of lavender, her lips were so soft and pink. Her cheeks glowed, and he could see the glitter dusted on her face as it dazzled in the spotlight. Her skin was the colour of coffee, and her costume a spectacular pink that matched her lips. Her eyes, were the colour of the whiskey he was hooked upon, he'd never drink the liquid again if he could just look at those eyes forever, they were locked with his, and he knew right then and there would never be anybody else for him. Nobody as graceful as her, nobody as sparkling as her, nobody as unbelievable as her.

She had taken his breath away, and it was a while until he retrieved it. Phillip wondered if she had seen him as he had seen her, if she'd been just as enchanted.

"Who is that?" he muttered under his breath.

"Phoebe Whitlock, although her stage name is Phoebe Wheeler" Barnum answered, appearing at his shoulder. Phillip had forgotten completely about him, and jumped slightly when he heard his voice. "Quite the talent, isn't she? She's one of our most popular acts, not only part of the trio but does solo acts as well. She performs with Anne and W.D Wheeler. They are very close and very protective of each other."

He was still captivated, watching as the siblings left the ring. A hole in the roof was uncovered and the pounding rain came rushing through. Phoebe was left in the middle of the ring and was soaked as the rain poured on top of her. Two lengths of fabric dropped down next to her. ANne ran on with a bright pink silk scarf. She seemed to whisper in Phoebe's ear as she tied it tightly around her head, covering her 'sister's' eyes.

Anne left and Phoebe blindly grabbed at the now wet fabric. She held tightly as she was lifted 20 feet up. Phillip was scared for the girl's life. "What is she doing?"

"What she does best. This is a favourite of mine, an aerial silk dance while blindfolded, extremely dangerous."

She started to perform flips and spins only supported by the fabric she held onto. She started to sing, was there nothing this woman couldn't do, her voice was that of an angel's.

_**He is my sun. He makes me shine.**_

Phoebe's performance came to a climax as she danced herself as high as possible and sat in an upside down split, now thirty feet in the air. Abruptly she dropped ten feet, the audience gave an audible gasp, Phoebe didn't know it but right now she was facing Phillip and singing right in his direction.

_**Will you still love when I am no longer young and beautiful?**_

_Yes, yes I will. _Phillip thought as this goddess seemed to sing right at him before swiftly moving again.

Barnum gestured for Phillip to follow him backstage, but he was reluctant to tear his eyes off of Phoebe Whitlock. Then, as if reading his thoughts, she finished her song as she slowly descended to the ground. Phillip thundered down the stairs after a speedy Barnum, ducking and dodging an assortment of props that were flying around.

"W. D, Anne… Phoebe, I want to introduce my newest hire, Mr Phillip Carlyle," Barnum exclaimed, as the trio came jogging through.

Looking up, Phillip saw the towering frame of W. D. Wheeler, built like a powerhouse, and dressed in his purple, glittering costume, it would almost have been comical. His skin was like chocolate, and his grin was friendly. "It's a pleasure to meet you," W. D. said as he outstretched a hand for him to shake. Taking it graciously, Phillip nodded, returning the favour. "Pleasure." He was a little out of breath, partly due to the pace he had took off after Barnum.

Phillip faced Anne Wheeler, a very pretty girl, she wore a pink wig and purple leotard, similar to Phoebe's. Her skin was lighter than the other two, and up close Phillip could see the similarities she shared with her brother. She smiled shyly at him as a greeting.

Turning to the right, Phillip came face-to-face, again, with Phoebe Whitlock. She was even more beautiful up close, and tall too, an inch taller than him and she was barefoot. Her skin glistened as she was now soaking wet from her dance in the rain. Phillip was at a loss for words, as he found himself entranced by her once more. He felt nervous, very nervous.

"And what is your act, Mr Carlyle?" she asked him, in a velvety British accent. Squeezing her hair with a towel someone had passed her.

"I-I don't have an act," he breathed, trying to find words to string together that didn't make him appear to be completely dim-witted.

Worried that she'd find his response dull, he stood tense, waiting. Then she smiled enigmatically, and Phillip felt his heart leap up. "Everyone's got an act," she told him. She looked at the men around her, "Well if you'd excuse me gentlemen, I need to dry off." Phoebe then began walking away, but not before looking him up and down with her whiskey gaze that sent shivers down his spine.

He couldn't help himself. He watched as she walked away. It was strange, he should have felt immoral of sorts, staring at a girl dressed in nothing more than a leotard, but it wasn't like that. He wasn't thinking about that, just her.

* * *

As Phoebe walked away, she heard footsteps behind her, and her initial thought was that Mr Phillip Carlyle was following her. Biting back a grin, a witty remark ready on her tongue, she waited with baited breath for him to say something. Instead, it was Anne that spoke.

"What do you make of that Mr Carlyle?" she asked her friend, watching her reaction closely.

"I don't think anything," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow a little red. She sat in front of her vanity mirror and distracted herself by taking her damp wig off, she'd have to restyle it so it wouldn't be ruined.

Truth was, Phoebe was surprised by how much Phillip's presence affected her. He was captivating in every way possible. His eyes were the most striking shade of bright blue, when their eyes met as she swung up those eyes pierce her to her very core. No one had ever affected her like that. Though dressed richly and all covered up, Phoebe could tell he hid a chiselled physique under that fabric, a realisation that was enough to cause her mouth to dry up. He spoke like a gentleman, when he eventually found the words that is. Above all, although he wore that crisp suit, his fancy name, and eloquent vernacular, he had still took W. D.'s hand without hesitation, and hadn't appeared offended by Barnum's choice to introduce him to a group of coloured acrobats. This gladdened her immensely.

Anne loomed over her and grasped her shoulder harshly. "Phoebs, I saw how you looked at him. You've never looked at anyone that way. And your performance afterwards? You think W.D. and I didn't notice how you lost focus? You dropped 10 feet before you caught yourself! The blind performances are the most dangerous! You weren't thinking straight and could have died because of it!"

Phoebe shook her head at her closest friend. She walked behind the dressing screen. "It was nothing! I had it under control."

Anne rolled her eyes, "I saw him watching you, when you performed. It was like he ain't ever seen somebody so pretty. He couldn't take his eyes off of ya."

Phoebe was glad she was behind the screen getting changed, her face was boiling. "P.T. probably brought him in to get more money. He'll get bored by next week."

"I think he'll be sticking around longer than that," her friend muttered. Phoebe gave her a look, Anne swallowed, "Look, if he's only round this week who's telling the kind of fun he could have. He's a rich white man, you are a young black girl." Anne shrugged, not needing to continue. She sat at the vanity next and began to remove her costume. Phoebe looked down and swallowed painfully. She knew what Anne was implying.

Phoebe didn't speak to Anne or W.D. for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Phillip awoke with a dry mouth and pounding headache, still sat in his chair in Barnum's office. For once he was not dreading the day ahead of him. He rubbed his eyes and looked across from him to see P.T. working away.

He was dressed in different clothes, and looked a lot more refreshed than Phillip probably did, he assumed that Barnum had gone home last night, leaving Phillip to his slumber. He smiled sheepishly at his business partner, feeling quite embarrassed at having fallen asleep in his office.

"I thought you could do with the sleep," Barnum told him, looking up from his paperwork. "Something told me you needed it."

Phillip nodded silently not looking at the face the older man was pulling, and picked up the flask that had fell on the floor in the night. It was completely empty.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Both men turned in the direction of the sound, to see Phoebe Whitlock stood at the door. Phillip was in awe of her natural appearance, to say the least. Without her bright, purple wig, her hair was the colour of a raven's wings and half was pulled away from her face, tiny curls springing free. Her skin glowed, even without the help of any glitter or spotlights. She was still tall, and graceful, trading her pink costume for a dark blue dress. She still stood tall however, but she wouldn't meet either of the men's eyes as she spoke to them. She was a strange blend confident and fearful.

Conscious of what Phoebe would think of him, stinking of booze and wearing clothes from the previous day, Phillip tried to smoothen his hair down instead, and sat up straighter.

"Yes Phoebe, what can I do for you?" Barnum asks, with a friendly tone.

"Mr Barnum, sir, I was wondering if you wanted my help with your paperwork again?"

The whole set-up of Barnum's circus was so unlike anything Phillip had witnessed before. Never in polite society would a lady presume a man needed help with his business, especially a coloured woman. He didn't want to presume about her intelligence, but he wondered how she had access to enough education to be able to help P.T. And yet, both felt almost normal here.

"Thanks for the offer Phoebe, but I think I'll get Phillip to take on some of the work now that he's awake. There's no need to put extra pressure on you, you already do so much to help out. I don't know if anyone has fed any of the animals yet though." Barnum replied smiling. Phoebe thanked him and turned to leave, when he stopped her. "Also, you don't have to call me sir, no formalities needed here. You've shouted at me for messing up my financials enough to be comfortable using my name."

"Well if you'd organize yourself, I wouldn't have to P.T. and I guess it's just force of habit." She chuckled.

"We're all equal here," Barnum assured her, with a warm grin. "Plus, you're a star. _The_ star. You don't need to worry about losing your job."

Phoebe looked at Phillip, for the first time since she had stepped in as though she barely noticed him. She took in his upper-class attire, that while dishevelled was still finer than her own. She didn't know how equal he thought it was. She simply smiled and nodded before she left the office.

Phillip and Barnum watched her retreating figure disappear down the stairs.

"Poor girl," Barnum sighed, shaking his head. "I can't imagine the kind of life she's had to live. All her life she's been treated as inferior to everybody else. Came all the way here hoping for a better life and is treated even worse, with no money to go back to England. I don't even know if she hasn't any family, she may only have W.D. and Anne. She can be so bold and fun and suddenly she'll be so scared that if she takes one step out of line, I'll send her packing."

"Why can't she get other jobs if she's so scared? Is she in danger?"

Barnum looked at Phillip, incredulously. "Phillip - she's black. She's always in danger," he told him, his tone so serious that Phillip felt his heart sink. "I know Phoebe can handle herself, she's tough. Not many people can do what she does every night. Recently, however, we've had some threats, made towards Phoebe and the other coloured acts. Patsey, Nnemoma, Mswati, Queenie, W. D. and Anne - they're all vulnerable. Hai, Dang, Chang and Eng too. I'd prefer she'd be here where we can protect her than out there. I don't even like them to leave this building alone."

Phillip shocked to hear how many of Barnum's - their - circus acts were in danger. It was horrifying, that all these talented people were at risk simply because they were different ethnicities. He was outraged. Ashamed, mostly. He had always known that there was injustice in the world, but he had never seen the full extent of its effect. He had barely glimpsed it at Barnum's circus, but that glimpse was more than most saw.

Another knock on the door broke the silence they had fallen into. Hoping Phoebe had returned, Phillip snapped his head in the direction of the door. Instead he saw Lettie Lutz, with a concerned expression on her face. She was wringing her hands nervously, and sounded out of breath. Clearly she had rushed there.

"What is it, Lettie?" Barnum inquired, eyebrows furrowed. He leaned forward in his chair, tense.

"There's an issue, with the lion. Something in his paw," she replied, through her gasps for air. "He won't settle."

This wasn't the bad news Barnum had been expecting when Lettie appeared, and breathed a sigh of relief. Laughing, he relaxed in his chair. "Oh, that's no problem," he chuckled. "Phillip here will be more than happy to assist you, won't you?"

Barnum hadn't left Phillip with a choice. Reluctantly getting up out of his seat, he nodded, swallowing. Lettie also appeared unsure, but didn't argue, and gestured for him to follow her to where they kept the lions. His heart hammering away inside his chest, he could barely hear what Lettie was saying, the pounding echoing in his ears. He suddenly remembered that Barnum told Phoebe to go to animal enclosures and Phillip became even more worried. He caught words, such as _mauled, claws, _and _no escape_, which did nothing to calm his nerves.

He could hear the lion before he saw it. Passing the open corridor where many acts would prepare for the show, Phillip and Lettie turned a corner to the pen, where the lion was kept, in it's enclosure. Increasingly worried, Phillip had expected to see a great, ferocious beast, roaring and snarling. Instead, he found Phoebe sat in the pen, with the lion sprawled across her lap. His initial thought was that Phoebe was in danger, that the creature had her pinned down. She was very slender after all, whereas the lion was the size of a wagon. Then his fear turned into astonishment. The lion was purring, just as a cat would. Phoebe was singing to him softly, stroking his mane. There was no terror in her expression, no alarm. She was comforting the animal, whilst the official lion-tamer proceeded to pull whatever was ailing the lion from his paw. The lion flinched as the object was removed, and reared his head, baring his impressive teeth. The lion-tamer scarpered, sweat dripping from his brow, whilst Phoebe continued to soothe the lion with her soft hands and sweet voice.

"How is she able to do that?" Phillip muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

"It's unbelievable, isn't it?" Lettie grinned, watching Phoebe cuddling the lion. "She's been with circuses since she was 10, one had a lot of animals and she learned how to get them to trust and love you. The lions think of her as part of the pride, one of them."

Another lion appeared, a female. She nuzzled Phoebe's head. Soon the two lions were on the floor, at her feet, whilst Phoebe caressed them both, laughing. Her laugh was just as beautiful as she was, and infectious too.

W. D. appeared at Phillip's shoulder, and followed his gaze. "Phoebe's always been good with animals, started trying to adopt all the strays, kept bringing them to our apartment and hiding them." he explained, arms crossed.

"She certainly has a way with them," Phillip replied, nodding.

"I suppose it's cause she knows they can't let her down," W. D. added, watching Phillip closely. "That they ain't gonna mess her about. Take advantage, get bored of her, leave her for something better - that sort of thing. Do you understand, Mr Carlyle?"

Phillip knew exactly what W. D. was suggesting, and gritted his teeth. W. D. was worried about Phillip hurting his friend, which is fair enough, but there were more subtle ways of getting his message across. Less aggressive ways. Besides, Phillip had no intentions of hurting Phoebe; he wouldn't dream of it. He would never take advantage of her, never grow bored of her, and never leave her for something better - for there was no one better. "I understand," he finally said, through tight lips. "But you have nothing to worry about - "

"Oh, I know," W. D. interjected, before Phillip could finish. "Because you're gonna stay away from her."

With that W. D. left Phillip's side. Phoebe was still giggling and playing with the lions. She caught Phillip's gaze, and smiled courteously, nothing like the blinding grins she gave everyone else. Feeling disheartened, Phillip turned back to Lettie and asked if there were any more jobs that needed doing.


	5. Chapter 5

When Phoebe finally left the lion enclosure, Phillip approached her with a letter in his hands. She recognised the envelope immediately, the sunshine yellow wax seal giving it away. Her parents had written. "Phoebe, a letter arrived for you today."

He gave her the letter, their fingers brushing together, she could feel how soft and unworked they were. Compared to her own rough, calloused fingers. She thanked him and turned away to read her letter in private. Phillip called her back, "If you don't mind, may I ask who sent you the letter? It's just that Barnum said you don't have any family…"

He trailed off when he saw her eyes, they were filled with tears yet still glared as viscously as a lion. "Mr Carlyle, I'd like to keep my correspondence private if you'd allow that."

She barely waited for him to acknowledge her comment before she briskly walked to her dressing room, not seeing his hurt face.

Phoebe sat in the corner of the room, behind her dressing screen and opened the letter.

_My dear Phoebe,_

_News of this circus you've joined has now reached over to us. People say it's full of freaks, coloured folk and degenerates. It sounds wonderful! Everything you've always loved! _

_We've just dyed the doves pink and purple, like the costume you described. They make us think you, our beautiful daughter always flying around. Your father is currently having his afternoon tea with Gerald, it was very amusing yesterday! Gerald managed to get your father to eat some of his leaves! George did not warm up to the taste._

_I'd love to update you on the gossip but unfortunately I don't have any, recently we've been invited to less parties. Don't feel bad darling, I couldn't care less, those people always acted like there were butterflies in their heads. Always so boring and polite! Have you met anyone yet?_

_I hope you're happy in New York. If you need anything you know you can always ask. And if you ever want to come home you can, I hope they are treating you well in America. How are Anne and W.D.? If you ever want to come back they can come as well. _

_I love you my dove,_

_Mother_

Phoebe couldn't help but break down and start sobbing. She missed her family so desperately. All she wanted was her mother to tell her what she should do about her growing attraction to Mr Carlyle. Phoebe knew she couldn't leave New York, not when the circus was starting and she had so many amazing people who had become so close to her. She couldn't make the Wheelers join her as much as she'd want the m to see what life in England is like.

When Phoebe heard the door creak open, she hurried to wipe the tears stains from her face, and tried to compose herself. Rushing to her feet, she turned to see who had followed her into the dressing room, half expecting to see Anne. Instead, she saw the concerned face of Charity Barnum, as beautiful ever, in a simple pink dress, her golden hair loose.

"Is there . . . something I can do for you, Mrs Barnum?" Phoebe mustered, through broken sobs. She turned away trying to organise her already neat vanity.

The woman gave Phoebe a small and sweet smile, shaking her head. Phoebe could tell from the tender and condoling way Charity was looking at her, as if she were going to break like a porcelain doll, that while she didn't know what Phoebe was upset about, she knew what she needed. The tension left Phoebe's shoulders, and she felt her sobs escape her throat, as Charity bound over to her, arms wide. She didn't hesitate to wrap Phoebe up in her embrace, despite the considerable height difference between the pair. After a short while, Phoebe pulled away, though reluctant to leave Charity's motherly embrace.

"When was the last time you were hugged, Phoebe?" Charity asked, searching the girl's eyes. "Anne and W.D. don't count."

It didn't take Phoebe long to answer. "It's been a while," she said, in a small voice.

Charity could swear her heart broke as the words left Phoebe's trembling lips. This poor girl, usually so composed and strong, had finally shattered. Instead of seeking comfort from the Wheelers who knew her best or Lettie, or any of the other acts who would have been more than welcoming to listen to Phoebe's troubles, she suffered in silence, alone. Charity sat her down on the fading velvet chaise lounge. She took out her own handkerchief and handed it to Anne. The girl took it, graciously, and dabbed at her eyes.

"It's silly really," Phoebe finally sighed, after she found her voice. "I just got a letter from my Mother."

"Your mother?" Charity inquired, softly.

Phoebe took a deep breath, "I was adopted when I was five by Lord George and Lady Amelia Whitlock. My birth mother died in childbirth and I don't know who my first father is."

Phoebe never looked in Charity's eyes, "They're good people to adopt a young black girl as their heir, my mother can't have children you see. They dealt with a lot as a consequence though. I mean they were already known as very eccentric, my father has a pet giraffe that he has daily afternoon tea with, but people tried to humiliate and shame them for having me."

"I was raised in high society, with enough money you can do anything, as you know. I had a wonderful education and access to anything I could ever want. But the majority of people who were always around me could barely stomach me, or others like me. All my life, no stranger has ever smiled at me. They've only ever treated me as something they've found on the bottom of their shoe. They're not capable of extending me kindness."

"It's why I escaped to the circus, I used to go every night. I was bewitched by the beauty and freedom I saw the performers moved with."

"You enjoy it, don't you? Being up in the air," Charity beamed.

Phoebe's eyes sparkled, as she finally looked back as the older woman, a mixture of adoration and tears catching on the light. "There is no better feeling than flying up there," she replied.

"How long have done your acts? I must say, I've never seen anything quite like the trapeze or silks."

"I discovered the circus when I was 10, I was playing just outside our estate when a group of older boys surrounded me. They attacked me, punching, kicking, throwing stones, they ripped my dress and threw disgusting insults at me. The servants who didn't like me just watched, sadistic smiles on their faces. When the boys got bored and left me, I ran and ran, I was so scared. I can remember that all I wanted was to escape. I ran until I approached this huge tent, the biggest tent I have ever seen. There were caravans everywhere, a large group of animal enclosures, people of different ethnicities, shapes and size practicing several different talents. It was magical."

"Pable, the ringmaster, found me. I was surprised to see he had skin darker than mine. He took me back to my parents and invited them to come to their show that night. That night I saw the acrobats who performed stunts on aerial hoops, and bars, and ropes. I went to their show every night after that, tried practicing the stunts I saw them do in my room. My mother and father were so happy I found something that would distract the world. Pablo eventually noticed how much I attended the circus and offered to train me on the trapeze. The acrobats, Katya and Boris taught me all their tricks over the next four years. When I was 15 I invented the aerial silks act by tying my sheets together and fastening them to the ballroom ceiling. I created the moves and dances all by myself. I never performed before here though. Too many people knew my name, I didn't want my parents to be shamed more than they already had been. Useless to do that anyway"

Charity smiled, despite her initial shock. She should have known, Phoebe never spoke of her past, of how she had finer clothes then most people of her station or how she spoke with a proper accent, or even how she was able to help P.T. "What do you mean?" She didn't want to pry, but she had to ask.

Not wanting to close herself up to Charity, who was only being kind, Anne took a deep breath. "People have heard of the circus in England, they've realised who I am. My parents have become social pariahs, they only get invited to important events now, and only because of the money they have."

Nothing Charity could say would ease the situation, she could imagine the guilt Phoebe was feeling, she felt similarly when she married Phineas, for inflicting shame upon people she loved dearly but couldn't let go of what she loved most, so she instead reached out and held Anne's hand. She gave her a reassuring squeeze, and Phoebe smiled, watery-eyed. Suddenly, the door flung open, and two giggling girls came bounding in, pigtails flying. Rushing to dry her tears, Anne plastered on a fake smile, greeting Caroline and Helen Barnum. It wasn't that fake; they were both wearing the infamous 'Lettie Lutz Beard', with pride. They clambered over their mother and Phoebe, eager to show them the new merchandise.

Phoebe spotted something moving out of the corner of her eye. Turning to look towards the door, which was still ajar, she caught the pacing figure of Phillip Carlyle, who appeared to be indecisive on whether he should enter the dressing room or not. Phoebe worried that he had overheard Charity and her's conversation.

"Phoebe, Phoebe," the youngest, Helen, tugged on Phoebe's skirt. She was nine years old, and still had a plump face with rosy cheeks. She was so darling, and so hard to say no to. "Can you show me and Caroline some tricks?"

"We want to fly like you!" Caroline added, enthusiastically.

Chuckling, Phoebe looked across at Charity, who seemed apprehensive. "It'll be safe, I promise," she assured their mother, as Helen bounced up and down in her lap. "Just the basics."

Reaching out to stroke her daughter's hair, Charity smiled. "If they want to," she replied, with a twinkle in her eye. "You never know, they could be naturals. Could be joining you this time next year."

Phoebe laughed, and stood up, smoothening her dress down. She allowed the girls to drag her out of the dressing room, their hands in hers, both equally as eager and excited. She knocked into Phillip, who's brow was knitted into a worried line. He saw her worried face, "I wasn't listening in, I promise," he apologised, and though her gut instinct was to distrust him, Phoebe couldn't help but believe him. "I know what I said was insensitive, I don't know your personal business, nor do I have any right to know it. I apologise for taking such liberties. I just wanted to make sure you were alright." Even as he spoke his eyes were searching her face, looking for signs of negativity.

"I'm fine, Thank you." she replied softly, their eyes locked and she was once again mesmerised. She didn't break eye contact with him as the girls led her to the stage, where her beloved ropes awaited them. However, she had to look away when Helen began to swing upside down on the rope, impatiently.

Phillip watched as Phoebe shed her dress, her training clothes underneath. His breath hitched in his throat as she slid the material up her slender body, baring her legs first. As she pulled the dress over her head, her curls fell free, falling about her face. She was left in a pair of saffron shorts with white trim, and matching white chiffon camisole. He smiled as she threw off, quite literally, her shoes, making the girls giggle. She then began some easy stretches, such as touching her toes and flexing her arms, as the girls copied her.

Charity came and stood beside him, arms crossed, watching with joy as her daughters fell about laughing when Phoebe pretended not to notice the giant hoop behind her. Phoebe was very good with the Barnum daughters, who had grown to see her as a sister, of sorts. Glancing over at Phillip, she smirked when she saw the infatuation in his expression, eyes never leaving Phoebe.

"She's very beautiful, isn't she?" Charity inquired, nonchalantly, waiting for Phillip's response.

He nodded. "I've never seen anybody like her," he admitted. "But she's a closed book. I don't know anything about her."

Sympathising with him, she sighed. "Phillip, she's always been alone in the world, she's had support but no one could ever sympathise," Charity explained. That statement weighed heavily on Phillip. Suddenly her frosty attitude made sense, and Phillip could barely imagine what she's had to experience. "Be patient with her. She'll let you in if she wants to, but you can't rush her."


	6. Chapter 6

"The shame of the city," P. T. began, holding the New York Herald in his hands, reading the latest review of their circus with wide eyes. Charity sat beside him, ever the supportive wife, resting her head on his shoulder. "The protests commend Mr Barnum's reputation as a purveyor of the offensive and indecent."

The troupe had all gathered, listening intently to James Gordon Bennett's words with disgust and anger. Phoebe sat on a podium, legs crossed, wearing her practice clothes, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of golden boots, an addition to her costume that she adored. She tried not to look offended by the nasty remarks in Bennett's review, but it was more easier said than done, as insult after insult was hurled at them all.

Lettie, who was sat in-between Anne and her brother, snorted. "Offensive and indecent?" she repeated, unashamedly combing her beard. "Mr Bennett, I'm blushing."

The eldest Barnum daughter, Caroline, jumped up, donning her matching Lettie beard, and flipped her hair. "No, I'm blushing!" she exclaimed, much to the amusement of all those around her.

Taking note of her daughter's carefree attitude, Charity turned to P. T, folding her skirts over her lap. "What do you care what Mr Bennett thinks?" she asked her husband.

"He's a prig," Lettie pointed out.

"And a snob," Charles added. Despite being the smallest member, he certainly had no problem making his voice heard.

P. T. sighed, setting the newspaper down with a huff. "Yes, and all the snobs in New York read him. He does their thinking for them." The realisation of P. T.'s statement weighed heavily on the troupe, who all knew that he was right. If these words were being read by all the high society folk all over New York, then word would be spreading. Rumours and whispers about Barnum's Circus would be flying all over the city, all of it wildly inaccurate and remarkably degrading. More scandals would bring more protestors, and more protestors would mean more abuse.

"Whatever happened to thriving off controversy?" Anne suggested, optimistically, ever hopeful.

Unfortunately, P. T. didn't seem to share her hopefulness. He looked exhausted. "Yes, well . . . " he trailed off as Phillip appeared, dressed in fine clothes, a top hat in one hand, and a note in the other. Phoebe couldn't ignore the way her heartbeat quickened as Phillip walked in. She caught a whiff of cologne, the pleasant kind gentlemen would wear, and tried not to become overwhelmed by the scent. Suddenly conscious of how she looked, she patted down her hair, to no prevail. The curls were untameable.

"Phillip!" both Barnum daughters cried, running to him. They threw themselves around his legs, and he laughed, greeting them kindly and warmly. Phoebe couldn't help but smile.

"Do you have any thoughts on this?" P. T. asked, holding up the newspaper.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Phillip replied, handing the ringleader the letter.

Curious, the troupe all leaned in as P. T. read yet another set of words, this time with a much more esteemed name printed at the bottom. "Master of the household has it in command that... the Queen invites Mr P. T. Barnum and his theatrical troupe to a reception at… Buckingham Palace?"

Everybody jumped to their feet, jaws dropped to the floor. Nobody could believe their ears. It had to be a joke? A cruel, insensitive farce made at the expensive of the oddities, for why would a palace invite a circus to perform for a Queen? Not even New York theatre critics enjoyed their show, let alone royalty.

"Queen Victoria? Is this real?" Charity spluttered, reading the letter of P. T.'s shoulder.

"I had to pull a few strings," Phillip replied, modestly. She never realised how far up the ladder he was, whilst she had fallen so far now that she'd moved here. What kind of playwright-turned-circus partner has connections in Buckingham Palace? "If you want society to accept you, may as well start at the very top."

As Phillip lifts Caroline up, stroking her false beard to make her laugh, Phoebe looked at Anne and W.D. who were stood together and already looking at her, their faces equally expressing worry. The Whitlock's also had connections to Buckingham palace with their aristocratic status but she'd never attended an event. She could feel her heart sinking, and knew that they were thinking the exact same thing; would the Queen care for coloured acts? She wouldn't be surprised if the Queen of England shared the same distaste for her skin, as many others did. Racism existed worldwide.

"Are we all invited?" Phoebe asked, in a confident voice. The other acts who were of different ethnicities ceased their celebrating as the proposition dawned on them fully. Lettie looked over at Phoebe, and back at P. T., waiting for him to offer them encouragement. He wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure how to reassure them.

Phillip did.

Phoebe watched as his smile faltered, and then returned, brighter than before. "I guess I'll just have to tell the Queen either all of us go, or none of us will."

Smiling, Phoebe felt a surge of warmth shoot through her body, as Phillip's words reverberated through her mind. Was he really that brave? That he would risk jeopardising a visit to Buckingham Palace because the Queen opposed to a handful of African-American circus acts? He beamed back at her, and she felt the butterflies again, raging inside her chest.

"The Queen of England? Can't get much better than that," Charles cried, grinning.

Phillip span Caroline around in his arms, causing her to giggle. Helen tugged at his coattails until he eventually swooped down and picked her up in his arms, twirling them both around. Phoebe was mesmerised by Phillip's natural way with the girls, as though he were their big brother. Waving at her, Helen called Phoebe's name, telling her to watch.

"I'm watching, darling, I'm watching," Phoebe laughed.

As the rest of the troupe began to spill out, disappearing upstairs to their rooms, or backstage to prepare for the show that night, Phoebe was still watching Phillip with the little girls, a smile playing on her lips. Their laughter was infectious.

Suddenly, Helen sped over and leapt into Phoebe's arms. Years of trapeze practice meant that Phoebe had very quick reflexes, and good upper body strength, which all came into good use when one of the Barnum daughters would throw themselves at her. Hoisting her up, Phoebe held the nine year old, who began chattering away about her day at school, when she noticed the marvellous, satin shawl Anne was wearing. Eyes lighting up, Helen caressed the soft fabric, as Phillip made his way over, Caroline pulling him along.

"This is lovely," she cooed.

"Thank you, it was a gift," Phoebe replied, smiling fondly at the girl.

"Whoever gave you it must love you very much," Caroline chimed in.

"It was my Mother's," Phoebe answered, reminiscing of the day she received it. It was the day before she left England. Her mother came in before she retired, her eyes watery and makeup smudged. Amelia spoke that night of how happy she had Phoebe, that she was the sunshine of her life, her little angel who had to fly free. She knew she'd always have to let Phoebe go one day but it was the hardest thing she had to do, to stop protecting her and let her experience the entire world. Phoebe's mother wrapped her teary daughter in the beautiful shawl, Phoebe could remember that during her entire childhood, all she wanted was that beautiful shawl, embroidered with flowers and exotic birds. "To remind you of us, to make sure you come home one day." She'd said.

"Where is your mother?" Helen asked, out of curiosity rather than rudeness.

"Helen!" Charity gasped, appearing by their side, P. T. at her shoulder.

"I don't mind," Phoebe said, giving a small smile. "My mother is back in London, with my father, I haven't seen them in a long time."

"Is they dead?" Caroline whispered.

"Caroline!" P. T. hissed, eyes wide. "Phoebe, I'm so sorry."

Phoebe shook her head. "It's alright," she assured them, and turned back to the little girls. "No, they aren't dead, I received a letter from them yesterday. They are healthy and happy. I just miss them desperately."

The girls hung their heads in sadness, Helen even wrapping her arms around Phoebe's neck, in an attempt to comfort her. Catching Philip's eye, she saw not sympathy, but compassion. That little difference meant more to her than she realised, as heart skipped a beat.

Charity gathered up the girls, prying an unwilling Helen off of Phoebe, who promised to come round for dinner that week. Satisfied with her answer, Helen left skipping, Caroline not far behind. Smiling, Charity reached out and placed a warm hand on Phoebe's own, and assured her that she was more than welcome to visit for dinner, and that she could come that night if she wasn't busy. Phoebe obliged she'd love to spend more time with the Barnums.


End file.
